Wallet
by Gone2Far
Summary: Finding your family is a good thing even if you have to get shot to do it.
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you so much for reading. I know that this is a very short first chapter but the next one will be much longer. Please let me know what you think. I'd very much like to get everyone's input. Haven't been at this for very long and am not very secure about my abilities. Please review if you're so inclined.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything but a decrepit computer machine named Lyle**

Wallet - Chapter One - Waiting

Lisbon gazed at the clear plastic bag given her by one of the ER nurses, a large black woman with warm, brown eyes that looked at her sympathetically as she handed her the bag with the block lettering on it that read 'PATIENT'S BELONGINGS.

It seemed so large to contain such a small number of items. None of his clothing was in it, but she knew that whatever he was wearing had probably been ruined by the blood and what hadn't been soaked through had probably been cut to ribbons by the quick and efficient emergency personnel as they'd sought access to their patient.

She held it up before tired, bloodshot eyes and examined it. There wasn't much there: a battered black leather wallet, a set of three keys on an inexpensive, chrome key-ring, and a cell phone. She shook the bag to shift its contents and there was the thin, gold band. Her chest constricted once again and she let the bag dangle at her side as she looked toward the entrance to the trauma room.

She'd not heard anything about his condition since, over two hours ago, the gurney with his limp body, IV bags, tubing and assorted medical gear had disappeared thru the doors marked 'DO NOT ENTER'.

Unfortunately, she'd gotten used to waiting: in line at the supermarket, the post office, the DMV, the coffee shop . . . yeah, she was used to waiting. She wished she wasn't so practiced at this quiet patience but it served her well. It was serving her now in this shabby fluorescently lit waiting room with the uncomfortable plastic chairs and the worn vinyl flooring.

She'd waited alone when her father had taken a header off the front porch during one of his benders and had been carted away in a ambulance. She'd waited alone when they were stitching up her brother after his latest beating for mouthing off during one of her father's drunken rages. She'd waited alone at the funeral home when, at sixteen, she'd been responsible for making arrangements after her father had finally ended his own misery.

This time, waiting alone was, possibly, even harder. It shouldn't have happened but, then again, things like this should never happen to someone you cared about; someone who's an essential part of your life, someone you could never replace. No one is immune from caring about someone they shouldn't. No one is immune from loss and heartbreak but, she already knew that.

She waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Wallet - Chapter Two - The Color of Love

**Thank you for your comments and encouragement. Here's a longer chapter. I hope it makes sense. Please let me know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but Lyle**

The day had started out easily enough. Jane had popped for a large box of donuts from Marie's and walked into the bullpen, greeting everyone cheerfully and announcing the availability of breakfast treats. He'd had the counter clerk put her pastry in a separate little bag so that it wouldn't be snatched up as soon as the box was opened and everyone dove for their favorites.

He brought a cup of fresh coffee to her desk and set it down in front of her as he pulled the small bag from his pocket. He carefully set the pastry next to the coffee then plopped down on her office couch. She breathed in the heavenly scent from the steaming paper cup and smiled at him in gratitude.

He loved to make her smile; almost as much as he loved to piss her off. He grinned back at her in his easy way and remained upright only long enough to take a few sips of tea from his own cup before setting it down on the floor and reclining with a sigh.

"You can't possibly be tired already, you just got here."

"Well, in case you really haven't noticed, there isn't anything going on right now, Lisbon. A man has to take advantage of whatever down time he can get."

"Yeah, like you have a shortage of 'down time'. If you had to fill out paperwork like the rest of us, you wouldn't have to worry about your, so called, down time."

"Paperwork is for people who believe it will put their lives in some sort of order; some way to quantify that they've actually been productive citizens of society."

"Yet another thing you don't have to worry about."

"Hey, we caught him, didn't we? Thanks in no part to my keen observational skills and brilliant deductive reasoning."

Lisbon snorted, "Yeah, and the fact that you can't drive for shit."

"What do you mean; I'm a perfectly good driver . . . an extraordinarily excellent driver, in fact."

Lisbon laughed out loud this time. "Jane, if you hadn't actually run over the suspect, all of this paperwork you see in front of me wouldn't have **been** necessary."

"Well, he was trying to get away and I wasn't about to run after him. Besides, how did I know he was going to double back and, essentially, run into my car? I think he actually put a dent in it. Is that covered by the C.B.I.'s insurance?"

Lisbon just ignored the insurance question.

"Oh no, Patrick Jane would never exert himself by actually running; might work up a sweat - can't have that. If you didn't drive like a bat-outta-hell, you could have just trapped him in that alleyway instead of actually running over him and breaking his leg."

"And what would I have done with him if I'd caught him on foot? I don't have a gun, I'm not trained in the marial arts, and he'd have probably beaten the crap out of me and escaped anyway."

"Yeah, I'm gonna agree with you on that one. Isabel in accounting could probably beat the crap out of you."

"Hey, she's tougher than she looks. Did you ever see those pointy little clips in that blue hair? I hear she drew blood with them and that it took five, strong, men to wrest away that reimbursement check for the rental van in Visalia."

Lisbon just looked at him, her green eyes couldn't hide the sparkle of amusement. Jane gracefully swung his legs over the edge of her cream colored couch and sat up, his face crinkling in what looked to be a genuine smile. He could do that sometimes . . . smile genuinely . . . when he wasn't trying to manipulate her or the rest of the team into getting whatever he wanted at the moment. They were all pretty much on to his games by now. It was getting harder to con them but, she supposed, he only considered it a greater challenge.

"Meh, it all worked out. We caught him; he confessed; et voila."

She was about to counter his statement with another barb but, just then, her phone rang. The consultant watched her face as she listened intently for several seconds before saying, "We're on it, meet you there."

Ignoring him, she stood up and quickly strode out her office door toward the small group happily consuming donuts and joking in easy comeraderie at Rigsby's desk.

Lisbon announced in her senior-agent-in-charge voice, "We're up!."

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Her body had been found by a woman walking her dog in the park on a clear, crisp, spring day. It was a nice, fluffy, little dog but when it came back to her, after she'd called it from the dense shrubbery into which it had wandered, the woman gasped in horror. She quickly picked up her dog and dialed 911; trying to juggle the phone and keep her pet's little pink tongue and blood dripping muzzle away from her face.

The local cops arrived quickly. A murder in this town was a little unusual but, at least, it was more interesting than rousting the local potheads. Unfortunately, this small patch of grass and trees, that had at one time been on the outskirts of town and was now nearly in the middle of it, was part of the state park system. No matter how interesting, they wouldn't get to keep this case.

_Too bad_, thought the portly patrolman who was the first of several of the local police force to arrive at the scene. What they found in a small clearing in the dense foliage, was a young woman, fully dressed, lying on her back, her eyes closed peacefullly and her arms folded over her chest. A single, red, rose delicately resting in her hands.

All around and under her lifeless form were scattered petals. Blood had flowed from the small wound in the middle of her chest to trail down her body until it mingled with and was lost in the velvety, soft, red, petals beneath her.

Her ID was in the small, leather purse lying beside her. One of the patrolmen picked it up, remembering almost belatedly, to handle it with gloves rather than bare hands. Her driver's license showed the name Andrea Faye Stillson, age twenty-five. The address listed was not far from here.

The patrolman looked at her and sighed. W_hat a shame _he thought and wondered if he would feel this way if she was homely. He hoped so, but . . . probably not.

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

They arrived within an hour of getting the call from the Hanford Township PD.

As the large, black SUV pulled to the curb on the street that bordered the park, Lisbon had the sour thought that every uniformed cop in town was here trampling all over the crimescene. They milled about; a small sea of dark blue in the grassy area beside the dirt path a few yards away.

The cool breeze seemed to cut right through her clothing as she strode up to them with her, somewhat masculine, walk and her 'take charge' manner. Petite and feminine though she was, she carried the air of one in command. Her agents trailed behind her as she walked up to the first uniform she came to at the edge of the group.

"Who's in charge here?" she asked the portly man beneath the peak-brimmed hat with the gold HTPD emblem on its front and an qually gold and shiny badge on his barrel chest.

"Uhh, Sergeant Crawford, ma'am. He's the African-American guy over there under that tree with the others." He knew she must be someone to reckon with. She didn't identify herself but the others tagging along behind her seemed to be respectful followers of this alpha female. That is, all except for the blond guy with his hands in his jacket pockets who's bored expression, and casual gait looked to be that of someone on a stroll rather than an investigation.

The little group walked toward the tall, black man in the leather jacket with his shield clipped to the pocket who stood talking with several uniformed and non-uniformed people under a furiously blooming jacaranda. The group under the tree parted to give them a clear pathway.

"Senior Agent Theresa Lisbon of the C.B.I.", she said with an outstretched hand as she introduced herself. "These are my agents, Kimbal Cho, Grace VanPelt and Wayne Rigsby and our consultant Patrick Jane."

The coffee hued man took her hand in a firm shake and said, "Chief Max Crawford, HTPD, thanks for coming so quickly."

"What've you got?" asked Lisbon as her agents fanned out around her; Jane standing slightly back and to the side as was his habit, the better to size up the locals. One never knew what information could be useful should he need it. He studied them carefully with his clear, direct gaze.

Crawford seemed sharp enough at first glance. He had to be fairly competent to be the head of a largely, white police department in an almost exclusively white suburb. The others seemed diffident enough toward him and he had a brisk, no nonsense way about him.

_Could be good . . . could be bad . . . all depends_ mused Jane. The rest of the group was made up of cops in uniform or ill-fitting suits and what looked to be some of the local city officials in slightly better fitting suits. To Jane, they appeared to be the standard, self-important, big fish/small pond buffoons that at once annoyed him and provided a source of amusement.

Winding them up was going to be fun if he could get out from under Lisbon's thumb long enough to do it. He'd try to control it . . . well, as best he could. He knew that he was currently on thin-ice with Lisbon because of the headaches and extra paperwork he'd caused her this month and the month wasn't even half over yet. Maybe he'd give her a break and just try to concentrate on the case. Boring, but hey, it's why they paid him. He may as well give the state its money's worth.

He ignored the balance of the ongoing introductions and made his way to the body hidden by the wall of shrubbery off of the dirt pathway. He squinted up at the clear, cloudless sky and breathed in a lungful of cool, clear air; feeling it fill his lungs with an almost menthol coolness before he exhaled.

He flashed his ID to the woman in uniform who tried to stop him from striding up to the body and she nodded and stood aside for him to pass.

The first thing he noticed was that the deceased was quite beautiful. She had dark, wavy hair and pale, (now, **really** pale) skin with a light dusting of freckles. Her lashes were long and full and her make-up was expertly applied. She wore no jewelry other than a practical, inexpensive wristwatch and small, diamond studs in her earlobes. Her clothing was well-cut and moderately expensive and her long, delicate fingers were neatly manicured with a tasteful shade of muted pink applied to her nails.

The rose in her hands was red, the color that symbolized love. Someone loved her, maybe the same someone who ended her life on a beautiful, crisp, Spring day in the middle of a state park. He studied her for another few moments and then concentrated on the ground around her, crouching to look more closely at the petals on which she lay: soft, red petals, the color of love.


	3. Chapter 3

Wallet - Chapter Three - Pumpkin Flavored Passion

**Once again, thank you for your reviews. Pleeease let me know what you think of this chapter. I'm not sure if it hangs together as tightly as it should. The next one will be somewhat gory so be warned.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but Lyle**

They'd already been to the victim's neat little apartment and found nothing of import. The next stop was Hutchins Associates a couple of miles east in the more commercial part of the suburb. She worked there as an investment analyst and, from all accounts, she'd been good at her job. After interviewing her employer and co-workers, they couldn't identify anyone who'd had a grudge against the young woman. She appeared to be genuinely well-liked. There were reddened eyes and twisted, tear dampened, tissues all over the office as they asked their intrusive but necessary questions.

Jane, as usual, had wandered off after a few moments of pretending to be part of the team. He returned after about twenty minutes, his face giving no clue of what he'd discovered; if anything. After less than an hour and a half with no useful information imparted by her distraught co-workers, they left.

The team met, once again, at park. The crime scene was now crisscrossed with yards of yellow tape. A small crowd of onlookers gathered ghoulishly behind it, craning to see a glimpse of blood and gore.

Cho, who'd stayed to supervise in Lisbon's absence, walked up to fill them in on what little information was so far available. He gave his usual un-inflected and concise rundown: "Nothing new here, the ME is almost ready to take the body. It doesn't look like a sexual assault - but that's still pending, and it wasn't a robbery. Her wallet, cash and credit cards were all there in the purse found near the body."

As Jane had already surmised, there wasn't anything new or surprising. They stayed conversing in the cold wind with Chief Crawford for several more minutes before he caught the Lisbon's eye and said, "Take a walk with me."

"Jane, we can't just leave the crime scene."

"What, you think someone will steal it? There's cops all over the place."

"Jane . . . "

"Look, he said pointing to the white, leather and nylon shoes sticking out from the yellow plastic sheet now covering the body, "she's wearing walking shoes. Definitely not a good look with that suit. That means she - was - walking."

"And . . . "

"She had to pass the same way every day. Someone knew where she'd be and when she'd be there. Her office is about a mile from here and her apartment is another mile in the opposite direction. Let's go see what's in between, shall we?"

It was a pleasant enough day for a walk. The sun shone brightly even though it was cold enough for the California version of winter wear: board shorts, flip-flops and a ski parka. Lisbon dug her hands deeper into her pockets and hunched into her collar as the wind whipped her dark, glossy, hair about her face. Jane seemed oblivious to the cool temperature. He was on the scent like a blond bloodhound and little would environmental conditions deter him or even register while he was so focused. Well, _almost_ nothing deterred him.

They walked past antique shops, vacuum cleaner repair shops, book stores, clothing boutiques, a bagel shop . . .

"Ooh, bagels!" said Jane as he made an abrupt turn into the doorway of the warm, deliciously scented, shop. The sign above the door read Totsi's in tasteful green lettering. Actually, thought Lisbon, the idea of a hot cup of coffee and a bagel sounded really good about now. Most of the morning, she'd been hoping no one could hear the rumbling in her stomach. She'd gotten no more than a sip of coffee before leaving the office. Throughout the investigation, her mind had wandered back to the strawberry danish still sitting on her desk.

Jane went to the counter to order for them as Lisbon found a table in the front window, settling into the almost comfortable wooden chair; shaking her jacket loose around her and smoothing her windblown hair. Jane came back with a cup of coffee for her and his usual tea, the tag hanging out of the steaming cup. He produced two paper wrapped bagels from his pocket and set them down next to the cups on the worn table top. She assumed that he neglected to use a tray because, frequently, he arrived at the office carrying two cups and producing some sort of paper-wrapped pastry from his coat pocket.

Lisbon had always thought her consultant seemed at least a little OCD. He made his tea the exact same way every day. He wore some version of a three-piece suit every day. She'd also bet money that he had at least a touch of ADD as well. His world was so focused and tactile at times and at others he barely seemed earthbound.

She smiled to herself as he set the coffee and bagels down in front of her. _He's a little odd, but he's so good at what he does. If only I could get him to listen to me instead of rushing off on his own. It's like trying to train a damned cat._

"I hope you like strawberry cream cheese. It seemed like something you might enjoy. I took it upon myself to make the decision."

He looked at her expectantly with an almost childlike expression of anticipation. He waited for her take a bite and approve of his decision.

"I'm sure it's fine Jane, Whatever you chose is fine. The coffee is fine . . . actuallly, it's very good." She took a sip and closed her eyes in appreciation. It was hot and robust but not bitter like the sludge at the office.

Her statement seemed a good enough evalution for the moment and he sat across from her; facing away from the window, and unwrapped his bagel. His clear gaze seemed to focus on something over her shoulder and she turned and glanced back toward the counter. A small, balding man was polishing the glass top and carefully re-arranging the things that sat upon it. He put the sugar packets in order, making sure that the labels faced the same way, then proceeded to sort the sweetener packets into little, color-coded baskets: pink ones here, blue ones there, yellow ones in the proper place, etc. Jane continued to stare at him for some time as though he'd completely forgotten that Lisbon sat opposite.

More to himself than to her, he said, "You know, there was a pumpkin bagel sitting on the victim's desk when we questioned her co-workers this morning." his index finger was tapping his lip in thought.

"Did you eat it?" she asked

"What?" his eyes finally focussing on his companion.

"Did you steal the bagel and eat it?"

"Of course not. Why would I do that?"

"It's not like you haven't filched food from investigation scenes before."

"Please, Lisbon. I have my standards. Besides it was a pumpkin bagel. I hate pumpkin flavored anything."

"Bad experience at Halloween?"

He didn't bother to answer her. His eyes had re-focused on the other side of the room.

"Come on, we have to go talk to those people again."

"What people?" Wait, I haven't eaten my bagel yet."

"It's portable." said Jane as he snatched it off the table and folded the paper back around it before shoving it into his coat pocket along with his own and moving quickly out the door.

He strode down the street at a much brisker pace than she was used to. Her shorter legs had to move twice as fast in order to keep up but she wasn't about to ask him to slow down. Within a couple of blocks, they came to the tall, stone building that housed Hutchins Associates. Entering the ground floor lobby, they crossed quickly to the elevator and were soon standing in the large foyer of Andrea Stillson's former workplace.

The same colorfully coifed receptionist they'd seen on their earlier visit greeted them once again with her lipstick framed smile.

"Oh, you're back. Do you want me to ring Mr. Hutchins for you?"

"No, thank you . . . Kimber is it?" Jane turned his full, hundred-watts on her, looking directly into her eyes. "Lovely name, your parents chose well."

"Thank you, you remembered." she smiled and lowered her eyes to look up coyly through heavily mascara'd lashes.

It used to annoy the crap out of Lisbon that women could be so easily manipulated by her charmingly deceptive consultant but, it had its uses. She was usually willing to go along with whatever Jane could spread with a shovel as long as it got results and didn't get anyone hurt . . . or sued.

"Actually, Kimber, we would very much like to speak with you."

"Me?" Kimber's eyes grew round giving the effect of a cartoon character in full-tilt surprise mode.

"Yes, we know that you have 'unique access' to a lot of information about things that go on around this office.

Lisbon let Jane take the lead. Flirting with and flattering the colorful but gullible receptionist would make her feel special and important and - useful. It couldn't hurt.

They waited while she answered an incoming call in a rote, but musical, tone. Both Jane and Lisbon surprised that Hutchins Associates didn't have the usual, automated, voice-menu options on their phone system; the kind that sent you down the 'river of no return' if you couldn't find an option that suited your purpose, dooming you to listen to an endless recorded loop without ever connecting to an actual human being.

Kimber efficiently tapped the appropriate button to send the caller on his or her way then looked around aprehensively to see if anyone was watching. She stood up to lean toward them. "What do you want to know?" she whispered conspiratorially

"Do you know if Andrea had any admirers here?" asked Lisbon as Kimber gazed raptly at Jane the way a hungry dog gazes at a T-bone.

The young woman turned her multi-hued head toward Lisbon almost distractedly and then came back to the moment with a start. She hesitated slightly before answering the question.

"Well, Andrea has, err . . . had a lot of guys that were, shall we say, smitten." she looked proud of herself at her choice of words. "She was so sweet and so pretty, how could she not? I mean, if I wasn't 'all girl' her eyes turned toward Jane and lingered ever so slightly before flicking back to Lisbon, "I could have gone for her myself. So, yeah, she was hot. There were a lot of guys interested but she never had time for any of them. She was all business in the office."

"Do you know if there was anyone outside the office?" asked Lisbon trying regain Kimber's attention as it had apparently strayed back to the blond man in front of the desk.

"Umm, no one that I know of, she never spoke of anyone."

"Who did she get the bagel from every day?" asked Jane, his eyes fastened intently on the receptionist.

"How did you know about the bagel?" said Kimber, her eyes once again rounding into the cartoon-like expression of surprise.

"Just a wild guess." said Jane lowering his eyes with what Lisbon knew was faked modesty. Kimber seemed impressed never-the-less.

"Oh, just that weird guy at Totsi's. I think he had a thing for her but she just thought he was sweet. He makes my skin crawl but she was nice to him. She said to never let him find out that she gave the bagels away to whoever wanted them. I think we all got tired of pumpkin bagels after awhile."

"Easy thing to do" murmured Jane

"Well, thank you for your help Kimber. We'll get in touch if we have any more questions." said Lisbon pleasantly while pulling Jane by the arm.

"Love the hair" said Jane as he was none-too-gently tugged away toward the elevators on the other side of the lobby. "Very bold statement. It's perfect on you." he called over his shoulder; actually sounding sincere.

Kimber ran her fingers the purple streak that flowed from her left temple as the two disappeared behind the closing elevator doors.

Lisbon rolled her eyes as she pushed the button and the elevator began its downward descent. She turned toward Jane, shaking her head.

"What?" he said, raising his eyebrows in innocence. "I thought the hair was great."

"Has it always been that easy for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about: this devastating charm that makes women turn to Jello in front of you."

"Well, you certainly seem immune my dear."

"Yeah, well some of us aren't as stupid as others!" she said, a little more vehemently than was necessary.

Jane just chuckled as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened onto the ground floor.

They exited the building and walked a little more slowly back to the park to see if the others had discovered anything new.

The four agents and their consultant rode back to the CBI headquarters in contemplative, (or just plain tired), silence. Jane was rarely quiet on car rides but this time he just sat and stared out the window, watching the rural landscape change to urban as they got closer to home.

An hour later the team gathered in the bullpen to discuss their findings; except for Jane who had assumed his usual position on 'his' brown leather couch in the corner as the others sat in or on various chairs and desks. It was nearly sundown and the pinkish light that filtered through the large windows gave everything a surreal, Maxfield Parish, glow as they re-hashed whatever information they'd gleaned from the visit to Hanford Township.

Jane was only disappointed in that he didn't get to rile up the suits in any fashion before they left town. _Oh well, there'll be plenty more. There'll never be a shortage of_ _targets_, he thought as he half-listened to the others while pretending to sleep.

"Jane, will you be so kind as to grace us with your presence?" said Lisbon sarcastically

The consultant rose reluctantly and stretched, then wandered over to the others; leaning his hip on VanPelt's desk and crossing his arms over his chest. He did his best to feign interest but he'd already figured out the identity of the murderer. He'd probably have to tell them eventually.

He let them flounder about for a while longer before he interrupted.

"I know that this may look like a big, juicy, serial-killer type crime that the TV news ghouls are so fond of, but it was just one of those sad, little crimes-of-passion . . . the passion, unfortunately, being only one sided."

He continued, using his graceful hands to reinforce his words with salient gestures. "She walked to work every day and Totsi's Bagels was on her route. In the earlier interviews, her co-workers had stated that she was always on a strict diet because she made extra money modeling for catalogs and, because she watched her weight so carefully, her usual habit was to drink only black coffee in the mornings. Yet, she arrived every day with a little paper bag containing a pumpkin bagel loaded with cream cheese and raisins, like the one I saw on her desk on our first visit. This continued even when it was off-season for a flavor that's, usually, only available in only the fall and early winter months.

No one interrupted him. He was more often right than wrong and they'd learned long ago to trust his skills or, as VanPelt still thought, (even though he strongly denied it), his psychic powers.

He paused for dramatic effect; taking a sip from his tea cup before continuing.

"Perhaps most telling is that she never ate them. She'd give them away or even toss them in the trash if there were no takers. Someone had been taking special care to supply them to her and she'd not refused the gift even though she had no intention of eating it."

"Our little friend, Kimber", (at the mention of the receptionist, Lisbon rolled her eyes), "even said that Andrea had told her not to divulge the fact that she wasn't eating the bagels. So, my little friends, who do you think is looks good for this murder?"

"It had to be someone who works at the bagel shop." said Cho

"Gold star for you, agent Cho. I'd bet Rigsby's bag of Doritos that he thinks is secretly hidden in the supply closet that it's the counter man at Totsi's."

They all looked fairly impressed with his conclusion, that is except for Rigsby who looked a little alarmed that his stash had been discovered.

"Well, that all sounds very plausible Jane, but we need a little more proof before we can bust the guy for it." said Lisbon as the others nodded in agreement.

After a phone call to his employer, the widow of the man who'd owned the shop, VanPelt learned that Andrew Keplovich was almost pathologically shy. He rarely spoke to the customers on whom he waited and would only answer direct yes or no questions. Mrs. Davidoff kept him on because her late husband had hired him years ago and had been very fond of him. She also told VanPelt that Keplovich was a hard worker who never had to be told to clean the glass on the large bakery display case or wipe down the counters and he'd never missed a day or been late to work in nearly twenty years.

The tall redhead read from her notes to the group standing around her desk after she'd hung up from the call, "She also said, and I quote: 'Yeah, he's a little strange, but he earns his keep and I trust him'."

_Sort of like Jane and Lisbon_, amusedly thought Cho.

"OK, it's time to go home, looks like we might be going back to Hanford Township tomorrow so everyone get here by seven AM." said Lisbon

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The next day, when Hightower had finally convinced a reluctant judge to issue a warrant and they had a chance to search his apartment, they found a neat and reverent little shrine to the victim. The carefully framed, eight-by-ten photo on the wall above the dresser was of the two of them. It showed the tall, dark-haired beauty beside the balding and slightly built little man who stood no taller than maybe five-five. They were both stood smiling at the camera.

It looked as though the photo had been taken on the sidewalk in front of Totsi's. Her smile looked somewhat strained as she towered over him, but he was beaming as though he'd won the lotto.

On the scarred dresser top below the photo, around the glowing pillar style candle that sat upon it, were scattered drying rose petals - red ones.

They'd wait for him to get home to arrest him. His neighbors said he was frighteningly punctual and would be home at three-twenty-five sharp. It wasn't often that they had such a solid appointment time for an arrest.

They weren't really expecting him to put up a fight, though they were prepared for it. After all, he'd probably already committed murder but, the little man had no history of violence other than toward the unfortunate object of his unrequited love. They didn't expect him to be any trouble.

They were wrong; . . . so very . . . very . . . wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

Wallet - Chapter Four - Appointment with Death

**Thank you for reviewing. It's what keeps me focused. You guys wanted Jane-pain, well, here's a big bowl of it. More in the next chapter, I'm not yet done torturing the poor man. I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone. Please let me know your thoughts.**

**Warning: Lots of blood but no sex. If you're queasy, don't read. If you're hot and bothered, don't read. There's nothing here to help you.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters. I'm just borrowing. I'll give them back. Promise.**

The apartments were built in a squat, stucco, line parallelling the sidewalk with only a pathetic strip of dying grass between the weathered doors and the concrete sidewalk.

There was no cover. The only place to hide was either behind the building or concealed behind cars parked on the street in front of it. After warning Jane to stay well out of the way, they'd crouched behind the line of assorted vehicles parked at the curb. Local PD, acting as back-up, was behind the building and also further down the block in a large utility van with the power company logo on its side.

Right on schedule, carrying a small nylon gym bag, he came down the walkway and lightly bounded up the one step to the small landing in front of his door. He took a large key ring out of his pocket and sorted quickly through the many keys and finding the correct one, fit it into the lock and turned it.

Ideally, they'd have braced him before he actually went into the apartment, but there was no way for them to get to him from concealment before he entered and quickly shut the door behind him. They heard the dead-bolt click into place as they silently gathered in front of the door with the dangling brass number.

Cho, for all his stoicism, was a superstitious man. _Upside down seven, not a good sign,_he said to himself as he waited behind Rigsby with his gun drawn.

"C.B.I., open up!" Announced Rigsby loudly as he pounded on the peeling door.

Suddenly, it splintered in a flurry of bullets and everyone flattened themselves on the ground before scrambling for cover behind the cars parked on the street.

"Son of a bitch!" said Lisbon loudly; her heart pounding in her ears as she crouched with her back against the wheel-well of a battered Buick. They shouldn't have been so sure of themselves. It was a mistake to think that a man who'd already committed murder wouldn't be a threat simply because of his appearance.

"You people are going to have to kill me!" came a hoarse shout from the apartment, smoke still curling through the holes in the splintered door.

"We're not going to kill anyone!" shouted Lisbon "Give yourself up Keplovich before anyone gets hurt!"

"No! What am I supposed to do now? That bitch said she cared for me! I gave her gifts and she threw them away! How could she say she cared for me when she threw away things I gave her!"

"Keplovich, calm down. Let's talk about this. No one wants you to get hurt. I'm sure that we can work this out. Just listen to me, it'll be OK!"

"I told her I loved her and she told me she didn't feel the same way! How could she do that?" his voice broke "I loved her! She thought I was just a loser who worked in a bagel shop! That's what pretty girls do! They lie to you and then leave you! I couldn't let her live! She'd just hurt someone else like she hurt me!"

"Just throw your gun out, Andrew! We'll go somewhere where we can talk about it. We can help you out of this. You had your reasons, I'm sure they'll see that!"

There was no reply. She hoped he was thinking it over.

Suddenly, the little man burst from the door, a gun in each hand like the tourist version of the Old West, firing wildly in their general direction. Many guns simultaneously returned fire and the heartbroken and, heretofore, meek little man went down and lay still.

There'd been so much noise and then abrupt, profound, silence as the smoke from the expended ammunition rose into the cool air and was swirled away in the breeze. She walked toward the body and kicked away the handguns; making them spin across the concrete walk.

Reholstering her gun, she bent to feel for a pulse. It was just a formality. She knew he had to be dead . . . and he was . . . as a doornail.

She couldn't explain it but, when you touched the skin of someone who'd ceased to be; there was no exchange of electrical impulse between your own fingertips and the skin of the deceased. She'd experienced it too many times before and, this guy, most certainly, had become a part of the 'great oneness'. She holstered her gun and looked down at the sad, little man on the bloody concrete.

"Everyone OK?" yelled Lisbon to the people behind her.

"OK here boss" said Cho as he stepped beside her to look down at the body.

Amid several other responses, she heard VanPelt's, "Good here" and Rigsby say, "Umm, yeah" his face flushed and looking slightly breathless as he waited for his heartbeat to slow.

Then, chilliningly, she heard, "No" in a shaky voice behind her "Not OK"

The four agents spun as one toward the feeble voice and saw Jane on the asphalt between two bullet-riddled cars. He was on his knees and his eyes were blinking in stunned surprise at the dark stain spreading on the front of his grey vest. Both hands were pressed to his chest and blood seeped between his fingers and down the back of his hands in bright curling rivulets.

"Jane!" gasped Lisbon as the four agents rushed toward him with she and Cho reaching him first and quickly kneeling beside him.

He looked at them questioningly for a brief moment, then his eyes rolled back and he pitched sideways. His fall was broken by the quick reflexes of the Asian agent who lowered him carefully to the tarry ground.

"Oh, God!" breathed Lisbon as she tore open Jane's vest and the blue shirt beneath it. The wound wasn't very big but it was bleeding fiercely.

She could hear VanPelt in the background calling for EMT's, manic urgency in her voice. She'd yelled "Officer down!" to the 911 operator on the other end of the call, gave the address and waited for the operator to confirm it before snapping her phone shut and coming forward to stand over the three on the ground.

He face tense with worry, she said "Ambulance on the way, Boss."

Jane moaned softly and opened eyes that darted around in panic until he found Lisbon's face above him, her dark hair hanging like a curtain on either side.

"I did as you told me, Lisbon, I stayed back. I'm sorry." His voice was soft and almost inaudible but he looked up at her calmly as though he was lying on his couch in the bullpen.

"I know, it's OK. You did good. It's not your fault." said Lisbon soothingly, her stomach in a knot as she pressed her own hands over the steadily bleeding wound. It always amazed her that small wounds could produce such a startling amount of blood. Rigsby handed her a large wad of gauze he'd apparently gotten from the first aid kit they kept in the SUV. The gauze turned quickly from white to red as it soaked through.

One of the neighbors, a round, olive skinned woman, brave or foolish enough to venture out, came timidly forward with a small stack of clean towels. She handed them wordlessly to VanPelt.

"Gracias" said the tall redhead as she nodded in thanks; taking them from the Good Samaratan. She pushed a towel into Lisbon's hands who added it to the sodden layer and pressed down. It seemed to startle him and he hissed at the pain; his face shining with sweat despite the cool temperature. His skin looked nearly translucent.

"You know . . . " he began softly before gasping to gather more oxygen to get the words out " You know . . . "

"What Jane?" said Lisbon as she used another of the towels to wipe away the blood that dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

"My dad . . . he always said I'd die in a gutter somewhere." he tried to laugh but it only came out in a wet wheeze.

"Jane, you're not going to die!" Lisbon said fiercely as if her voice alone could will strength into his body.

"I'm sorry Teresa."

"Shh, you don't have anything to be sorry for, Jane. Just be still the EMT's are on their way. We'll get you to the hospital and it will be better . . . you'll feel better. Just hang on for a while longer, OK?"

"'Kay" he said, his grey-green eyes still locked on her face.

_He doesn't look afraid,_ she thought as she switched out another towel and held it tightly to his chest.

His chest heaving for air, he began to cough wetly; eyes widening in panic as bright, frothy, blood filled his mouth and dripped down the side of his face

"Help me sit him up!" said Lisbon, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

The two men grasped him under the arms and lifted him onto the scraggly, yellowing grass of the parkway. Lisbon motioned for them to place him against her as she braced her back against one of the half-dead trees. She could feel his heart beating wildly through the back of his shirt as she reached her arms around his body to brace him upright.

Lisbon knew the rapid beating could be from pain or fear but it was probably his heart trying to compensate for the blood loss.

"VanPelt, get me an ETA on that ambulance!" she barked

Cho squatted in front of them holding the bloody towels against the wound. Rigsby was next to him patting Jane's shoulder with the tenderness of someone stroking a kitten. "Just hang in there, man."

Trying not to choke on his own blood, he managed to cough out "Do my best."

Then, as she could feel him start to relax against her, she thought she heard him mumble another soft "I'm sorry" before his body went completely slack.

She put her shaking fingers against his neck. His pulse was still there but she could feel it skip and then slow, then speed up again.

"Where's the ambulance?" she said looking at Cho's stoic face; her desperation making her own face flushed and taut. She held him tightly as his life slipped away into the cool wind that whirled around them.


	5. Chapter 5

Wallet - Chapter Five - Leather Confines

**Hello again. Thank you for all of your reviews and alerts. I know it took awhile to post this new chapter, but I don't write very fast. All the mistakes are mine, I'm very practiced at making them. Again, I would very much like to know what you think. If it was a movie, it would be way too talky. Hope it doesn't put anyone to sleep but maybe it's better than Nyquil. Sweet dreams.**

**Disclaimer: Only borrowing them. Make no profit from it. Sigh.**

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The ambulance pulled up within the next minute, its siren dying almost comically in a last, pathetic whoop as it came to a stop. Two strapping paramedics quickly appeared carrying their boxes of equipment.

"Is he allergic to anything?" asked the darker of the two who kneeled next to Lisbon and began unwrapping packs of needles and coils of clear tubing.

"I . . . I don't know." stammered Lisbon almost apologetically, _I should know this_, she thought to herself in panic.

"We had to sit him up, he couldn't breathe" said Cho

"You did the right thing, let's take a listen here" said the other medic as he placed a stethoscope against Jane's chest and then moved it farther down his ribs. He frowned.

The BP cuff was next and the reading didn't seem to make him any happier.

After quickly relaying information to the hospital, he turned to Lisbon as he expertly popped the cap off a needle.

"What's his name?" he asked

"Jane"

"Jane?'

"Uhh, yes, no . . . Patrick, it's Patrick Jane"

"Patrick, open your eyes and look at me!" said the paramedic loudly. He got no response.

"Patrick!" he said again and patted the pale face. Once again, there was no indication that Jane had heard him.

After using scissors to split the sleeves of Jane's shirt to quickly get access, they tied off Jane's right arm just above the elbow. The darker man who's name tag above his pocket identified him as 'D. Osuna' patted and flicked various points on the inside of the unconscious man's clammy forearm but didn't see anything useful to slip a needle into.

"Come on Patrick, give me a vein." he muttered mostly to himself as he closely examined the skin on the inside of Jane's wrists and the back of his hands.

"Uh, Lisbon stammered, "he, uh, had some . . . damage to the veins in his arms a few years ago. There's a lot of scarring. Could that be a problem?"

Dark eyes glanced up at her briefly, then quickly pulled off the band and pushed Jane's sleeve further up past the crook of his arm. They'd been in such a hurry he'd neglected to check for anything like that. Expecting to see the needle tracks and blown veins, he'd found countless times before on people you'd least suspect of drug use; he saw instead the band of raised scarring that cut across the big vein from inside the elbow to nearly the outside of the arm. He sighed and reached across Jane's body to check the other arm; the scars were nearly identical there. He didn't bother to ask about it. He knew what it was.

"We'll just have to find another place to establish a line", he said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry, we'll get it." He finally located a viable vein on the right side of Jane's neck, swabbed it with betadine and then put in the largest bore needle he dared and immediately connected the tubing to the bag of saline. He handed the bag to Cho and said, "Squeeze, we've got to get some volume into him; he's really shocky." Cho took the bag; his actions as sure and calm as though he did this every day of his life.

Another line was established on the back of Jane's left hand and a finer gauge needle put in to accommodate the smaller diameter of the vein. He handed the second bag of fluid to Lisbon and gave her the same instruction he'd given Cho. The guy's pulse was thready and his BP almost none existent. He could tell it was gonna be close.

David Osuna, thought,_ She's gonna take it really hard if he doesn't make it._ He didn't know the nature of their relationship but it was obvious she cared. The Asian guy didn't give much away but he watched everything with the focus of a laser.

"Who's going with? We got room for one if they stay out of the way." Osuna said briskly and motioned to his partner. He'd already assumed it would be the pale, dark haired woman he'd learned was in charge.

They lifted Jane's limp body onto the transport gurney and laid the equipment on it as well. Cho handed the bag of fluid to one of the men then steadied Lisbon as she scrambled into the back of the ambulance, still holding the clear, fluid filled bag aloft.

"Meet you there in a few, boss, as soon as we secure the scene." he yelled to her as the doors closed and the ambulance sped away, its siren splitting the crisp air.

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She was feeling somewhat guilty for snooping but it didn't stop her. It was a way to reassure herself that he lived, that he would reclaim the battered wallet and resume the life that was summarized within its leather confines.

There wasn't much to look at. A Driver's license with a fairly decent photo. No too many people got good results from the DMV's photo shoot. Lisbon thought that her own looked more like the booking shot of a serial killer.

Jane had managed to look rakish in his; the smile insolent, the hair artfully tousled. She examined the laminated photo carefully. He wasn't classically handsome. He wasn't particularly tall or muscular, but, there was a light in him; something golden like a flame that even the darkest, most horrific thing imaginable didn't extinguish. He made people want to go with him, like the Pied Piper who drew everyone along with his music. His carny background had made him a consummate con artist but that wasn't all that he was. She knew that a good man was in there behind the layers of protective bullshit.

She stared at it awhile longer before slipping it back into its plastic sleeve and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

The waiting room was nearly deserted now. There was a mother and father holding a child about four years old. The feverish looking little boy was in his pajamas and he lay quietly in his father's arms while his mother tenderly stroked his head. They looked like a nice family who, obviously, cared for their child.

She, vaguely, remembered what it felt like to feel secure in the love of one's parents. Right now, she had the strangest feeling that she wanted someone just to hold her and stroke her head and tell her that everything's going to be OK.

She would never allow herself to show that much weakness. _We all had our protective layers,_ she thought ironically.

She stared at them until someone with a clipboard beckoned at the door to the examination area. Lisbon smiled encouragingly as the mother caught her eye across the room, gave her a shy smile in return and then disappeared behind her husband and child into the room beyond.

She stared into the distance for awhile before remembering the wallet still clutched in her hands. She knew she shouldn't be doing this, but it was a distraction from unwanted thoughts.

The next sleeve held a platinum Amex card, back-to-back with a Visa card. She flipped to the next sleeve and there was a gym membership card.

_Wait . . . Jane . . . a gym membership?_ She'd never even seen him exert himself. She assumed it was just some sort of freakish roll-of-the-genetic-dice that kept him looking so trim.

If he got caught up in a case and didn't take care of himself, (usually a Red John case), he could become haggard and maybe a little gaunt but he always seemed to quickly bounce back.

Ironic, she thought. That his self-professed reason for living was the man who, five years ago, had taken away everything for which he lived. He would stay as long as it took to exact his revenge on the monster and then he didn't care what happened; death or jail, it didn't matter. It was more than sad that his tortured past so defined his present.

She knew they'd have to deal with this in the future. There had to be a future . . . didn't there?

The last thought made her stomach clench again. She tried to put the issue out of her mind and continued to look through the wallet.

The same compartment held a key; the plastic kind that the Auto Club made for you so that you couldn't lock yourself out of your car.

Jane really wanted people to think that he was infallible but she knew that he locked himself out of his car on a regular basis. He wasn't infallible, he wasn't bullet-proof, he was sad, angry, and damaged but, she couldn't imagine him not being in her life.

She took out a worn business card from the next sleeve. On it was the name of Dr. Sophie Miller. The card was old and creased and the phone number had been crossed out and a new one written by hand. She wondered if he ever contacted his ex-therapist.

He'd reluctantly told her about his stay in a locked room when he'd been hospitalized for several months after the murder of his family. He'd only divulged this secret to her when he'd found it necessary to justify his interest in Miller's case.

He'd told her he was ashamed of it. She had to admit that she was a little shocked at his revelation, mostly because of his candor.

Not many people knew that he wasn't just the handsome man with the flippant attitude and relentless curiosity about other people's business. He hid his pain like an animal that wouldn't let itself look vulnerable no matter its illness or injury because it might become easy prey for something larger and more predatory.

His lack of boundaries was quirky at best and dangerous at worst. They'd nearly all felt his brittle, cutting, sarcasm that made itself known when he was thwarted because charm and subterfuge didn't work; then, his clear eyes would look dark and cold.

That side of him frightened her . . . and almost nothing frightened her. She'd been a cop for a long time and had come up against some hairy situations that would have given the bravest pause.

When Jane had shown this dark side, it was as though everything in him coalesced into a mass of anger and hatred that burned in him like napalm. He could be cruel and cutting. The anger would override everything positive or good. It wasn't pretty and those who knew his capacity for it, tried to avoid it.

Her eyesight began to blur again and she quickly stuffed the card back into the wallet; feeling she'd already seen too much.

There was exactly eighty dollars in the billfold compartment - all in twenties. There'd been no loose change in the bag of belongings. He never seemed to have any for the vending machine at work. She'd probably given him hundreds in one-dollar bills and loose coins so that he could get his chocolate fix.

He'd always made up for it with unexpected displays of generosity; gifts of food and such, whatever he thought could cheer someone up or make them happy. He was very generous when it struck him to be so. Her dad had been that way before he'd taken up residence in a bottle of bourbon. Rather than express his affection with hugs and kind words, he would buy you something or make you something . . . like Jane brought donuts or made his origami frogs.

Something slipped out of the billfold and fluttered to the floor. It was a small white paper rectangle. She bent to pick it up from the speckled linoleum. When she turned it over, she caught her breath.

It was a photo of two people: Angela and Charlotte Jane. A snapshot of the two of them; taken in a park or some large, lavishly landscaped back yard. The woman, Angela, had a warm smile, long shiny chestnut hair and dark laughing eyes. She was quite beautiful, but the child was even more so. Her coloring the same as her father's, waves of golden curls and grey-green eyes that looked back brightly from the cracked surface of the photo. Also like his, her expression was intelligent and intense and held a smile as if she knew a wonderful secret she was never going to tell.

How did he ever survive their loss? That he's as functional as he is, she thought, was an indication of strength most weren't aware he possessed.

He'd refer to them occasionally when it suited him. Always in a blunt, clinical way that made you cringe and feel as though you'd been hit with a bucket of cold water or witnessed something you had no right to see. He rarely spoke of them in any detail.

She stared at the photo for several more moments before carefully slipping it back into its resting place. She put the wallet back into the belongings bag and fastened it, hearing the click as the plastic carry handle snapped it closed.

She bent forward and put her hands to her face and her head on her knees . . . then . . . she cried.


	6. Chapter 6

Wallet - Chapter Six - Beneath the Surface

**Hello. Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water . . . This chapter is a little short but the next, (hopefully final) will be much longer. Thank you all so much for your reviews and alerts and favorites. They're instant gratification! Better than chocolate. Better than . . . well, I can't think of anything better than chocolate. Pleeaase let me know what you think.**

**All mistakes are mine. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, wish I did. Don't profit from this. If I did, Lyle would be so outta here.**

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She still waited alone. She knew it took time to dot all the I's and cross the T's when there was a death, let alone one so violent involving so many people. But she needed someone to distract her from the thoughts that wouldn't leave her alone.

_Maybe he didn't want to live. _He'd admitted as much. The only thing that kept him here was his desire to catch and kill the man who'd murdered his family. Beyond that he expected no life; either jail or death - he didn't seem to care which.

She knew that he didn't believe in an afterlife. VanPelt had been doggedly working to get him to change that belief, or lack of it, since they'd first met. The devout young woman kept trying to get him to see that maybe there was something other than a void at the end of a life. Lisbon didn't think she'd made much progress.

She fingered the gold cross that had belonged to her mother and now hung around her own slender throat. What if he'd changed his mind? What if he'd decided he could be with his wife and daughter after all?

All he had to do was let go.

The door to the now nearly deserted waiting room opened with a cold rush of air and the other members of her team stood framed in the opening. VanPelt's long red hair looked like flames around her face as the wind whipped it about her shoulders.

The three spotted her in the corner and were quickly beside her. Rigsby plopped down in one of the plastic chairs next to her. Three faces searched hers for any clue to the fate of their consultant.

"Any news?' asked Cho - never one to waste words. He stood before her, muscular arms crossed over his chest.

"Nothing yet, he's been in surgery for about two hours but no one's come out to update me."

"I'll get us some coffee" volunteered Rigsby as he bounced up and began searching through his pockets for change for the vending machine which, for some inexplicable reason, was out of doors and around the corner.

"I could use some coffee. Looks like it may be awhile." said Lisbon with a wan smile at the tall agent.

"I've got change." said VanPelt, "I'Il go with you. You can't carry four cups at once."

"Jane will be OK" said VanPelt reassuringly patting her shoulder before she joined Rigsby on his coffee run. The two of them vanished out the waiting room door and turned right.

Grace VanPelt wasn't one-hundred percent confident that Jane would be OK, but she put her faith into it. If God decided to release him to his wife and daughter, then it was for the best. Her faith wouldn't let her think otherwise. She'd miss him terribly, they all would but, maybe he'd find peace.

Snapping back to the moment when she heard the clink of coins as Rigsby fed them into the vending machine; she sighed sadly and tried to think the best.

The overhead fluorescents blinked and faltered momentarily before renewing their resolve to stay lit. This was an older facility sadly in need of an update. The cracked plastic chairs and the tired linoleum being testimony to the fact. It was the trauma center for the region and the closest hospital available. It usually catered to the poorer population and others on the outside of the American Dream. One the way here, she'd heard from the paramedics that the doctors were very good. She guessed they'd had a lot of practice.

"Is that his stuff?" asked Cho, gesturing to the plastic bag that rested in her lap, though he knew it had to be.

"Yeah, they handed it to me when they took him into the ER. There's not much there."

Cho took the bag from her and shook it. The gold ring slid to the corner of the clear plastic and he stared pensively at it.

"He's not gonna like being without his wedding band."

"Yeah, he's never taken it off. It means a lot to him." answered Lisbon, her voice sounding tired.

"He's strong boss. Bad as it looks, he's strong."

"Maybe not as strong as he wants us to believe. It's just that he's so good at hiding everything."

"Not that good. Not everything. We all know what he's like."

"He'd be horrified you know."

"Yeah, he would." said Cho, his stoic face so very subtly softening as he looked at her.

Her green eyes locked onto nearly black ones, "Kimball, do you think he wants to die?" she asked quietly.

Cho was taken aback by her blunt question. He thought for a long moment before giving her his careful reply. This wasn't his forte, but she'd asked him and he felt compelled to answer her honestly; the only way he knew how to answer a question.

"No, not for some time now . . . I don't think Jane really wants to die. I know that he sometimes has the self-preservation instinct of a lemming, but he's changed. I think he cares about us; cares about you specifically, maybe more than he's willing to admit . . . even to himself."

"Cares for me?" said Lisbon, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Thought you knew."

Lisbon only shook her head slowly, her mind in freefall. "No, I had no idea."

"Boss, everyone else knows . . . except maybe you and Jane."

Just then, a tired looking man in scrubs walked into the waiting room, now deserted except for Lisbon and Cho.

"You here for Patrick Jane?" he said, more a statement than a question; walking over to them as he pulled the cap off his salt and pepper hair. His tanned face gave nothing away.

"Yes" said Lisbon shooting up from her seat and taking a quick step toward him, Cho beside her.

"I'm his surgeon, Doctor Cantebria. Patrick is still with us, but it was pretty close. There's still more work to do and it'll be awhile before we're done. That small piece of lead caused a lot of damage. It took us awhile to make the repairs necessary to control the bleeding. Now we've got to work on the other damage. There's a pulmonary specialist working on him right now. Best one I know."

"What are his chances?" asked Cho, willing to gather whatever information he could - even if it wasn't positive.

The doctor appraised him with a direct look and decided to answer the question without sugar coating it.

"Probably no better than fifty-fifty, but the longer he holds on, the better the odds. We should be able to get a better evaluation in a few hours. He's pretty tough or he wouldn't have gotten this far. He was almost bloodless when he got here and it's a good thing he doesn't have a rare blood type. He's pretty much exhausted our supply of O positive. We've had to transfuse several units. If he needs any more, we may not be able to get it in time. If anyone would like to donate replacement units, please contact us here. We need to replace what we used as quickly as possible. This is a busy hospital and it runs on a very tight budget."

"Will do." said Cho, actually meaning it. He'd do that for Jane, they all would; and he'd noticed the shabbiness of the waiting room.

"Thank you for your honesty, Dr. Cantebria." said Lisbon "When do you think we can see him?"

"After he's out of surgery, he'll be in recovery for several hours and then back in ICU. Only family will be allowed to see him and only for a few minutes at a time."

"We're his family!" spoke Rigsby as he walked up to them trailing steam from two large styrofoam cups. VanPelt was right behind him with two more.

The doctor looked at the worried group before him, (there was no mistaking the cop look), and decided not to press the 'family only' issue. All cops considered each other family in these situations.

"I'll let ICU know that his 'family' will be allowed to see him as soon as possible." said the doctor as he turned and walked back through the ER doors.

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The machines blinked and beeped around him. The only other sound in the sterile, glass enclosure was the wooshing of the ventilator that breathed for him.

Lisbon approached his bedside slowly, taking in his pallor and all the wires and tubing that tethered him.

He looked fragile; the hollowness beneath his eyes like bruises. His profound stillness was unnerving. She was used to the golden man filled with a restless energy even when he was still, it bubbled beneath his surface like magma.

She reached for his hand and held it between hers. It was icy.

She knew she had to say something. She'd waited what seemed like an eternity before they were allowed to see him. Now, dammit, she didn't know what to say.

She began with inanities: how they missed his magic tricks and the donuts from Marie's; how his couch actually looked lonely. It was just babble she knew . . . but . . .

He didn't respond. He lay silent, only the sounds of the monitors and ventilator answered her.

Her composure fractured then and crumbled away. It almost sounded like someone else's voice that said, "Please, Patrick, don't leave me!"

It was almost as if she was above them looking down at two strangers; one in a bed, the other beside it; holding his hand.

She felt her own tears drip onto the back of her hands as she bent toward him.

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He felt . . . odd. Sort of like the way he felt after too many days and nights without sleep. Sounds washed over him, lingering like foam on the edges of waves as they spent themselves on the beach. Maybe he'd fallen into the water? That must be it because he couldn't breath and he was really cold. People are always surprised at how cold the Pacific is.

He could see the surface shimmer through the depths as he swam upwards. He was running out of air. His muscles burned and refused to follow his command. He was close . . . but, he couldn't quite get there. He was just so, tired . . . and cold.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched, whining sound and then only blackness as he sank beneath the inky water.

**Some of you have asked for more Cho, Rigsby and VanPelt. Sorry I ignored them. I didn't mean any disrespect; they're wonderful characters. I promise to include more of them in the next chapter. Thank you for pointing out the oversight.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter - Seven

Ether

**Hey! Finally! I swear it was ready yesterday, but you know what happened yesterday and most of today. We won't go into it. For once, the tardiness wasn't my fault or even Lyle's.**

**Thank you for your reviews, alerts and favorites. It's my newest and most thrilling addiction. People are starting to worry. A few of you kind reviewers had requested an additional chapter, so I've made the story a little longer. If I've screwed it up by lengthening it, it's not my fault, right? You guys will take the fall, right? Just kidding. Please let me know what you think. I need a fix.**

**Disclaimer: I make no profit nor do I own.**

Chapter - Seven

Ether

It had been a rough night. After gallons of coffee and countless candy bars, chips and whatever else could be foraged from the vending machines, they were all tired . . . and queasy.

The exhausted surgeon had come out to speak with them when the last of the procedures were over and re-confirmed it was going to be touch and go. Jane had coded twice. Both times they'd gotten him back; just barely.

The waiting room was like home now; a crowded, noisy, shabby home. It was a Friday night, (or Saturday morning, if you will); usually the busiest time for any emergency room. It's as if people parked their sense at the curb when they saw the sun go down.

In the hours since they'd arrived they'd seen the flow of people who sought its refuge. Some had come carrying children screaming in pain. _Hard to listen to and even harder to watch._

Most of the children only looked frightened. The ones that didn't, looked angry and resentful or, sometimes, they just quietly accepted whatever might befall them in 'the big place with the bright lights and lots of chairs'. Sometimes they just looked stunned; their eyes vacant and no more sentient than an injured bird's.

People had come with sprained or broken hands, arms, legs, whatever; all of them with _'Please make it better'_ on their faces.

There were hugely pregnant women with swollen feet who'd barely made it in time before giving birth to the responsibility that was theirs for years to come.

There was the usual stream of idiots injured in drunken brawls; some dripping blood and leaning haphazardly on friends or relatives. Most completely unaware of their injuries or circumstance. Faces bloodied and clothing torn, they staggered, hopped, or were sometimes dragged into the waiting room. They were still drunk. Perhaps it was better that way. When they sobered up, their faces and bodies would tell the story of the night before and it would hurt.

There was the guy who ran through the room screaming that rats were eating his feet. Whatever trip he'd taken, he'd forgotten to pack his luggage. Before any of the tired agents could even react, he'd been corralled by security and taken away; still screaming about rodents. At least it was a distraction from depressing thoughts about how they'd come to be in this worn place, in the middle of the night; waiting for life or death to make its choice.

Wayne Rigsby was more than exhausted. He couldn't suppress the memory of feeling helpless as he watched another man's struggle to stay alive. He'd heard the tortured breathing and could offer only gauze, a pat on the shoulder and meaningless words. There was nothing more he could do in the fight to keep Jane from bleeding out on the parkway. Hours later, under the bright fluorescents, amid so many strangers, it still haunted him.

Grace had sensed his unease and placed her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. All she could give him was this touch. She wasn't his now. She wasn't because she'd chosen not to be . . . another thing that would haunt him; if not forever, then for a long time.

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Kimbal Cho had gone out to the SUV to get his book. He always had a book. It was his way of walling off the world. At an early age, he'd been made aware of its cruelty. He'd seen his share of it and, hell, even done his share of it but . . . that was a different time . . . long ago.

Yesterday afternoon he'd again seen the capriciousness of it all. A harmless looking little man riddled with bullets, lying dead on bloodied concrete; another man, close to death by unfortunate chance, lying on bloodied grass. Yup, it was cruel and unpredictable; he preferred the control of the printed page. It was his fortress.

Rigsby lay uncomfortably across several of the chairs. How he could even sleep on such an awkward surface, she didn't know. Too restless to sit still, he'd gone on countless coffee and food runs and had finally crashed at about three AM.

Grace smiled at the way his face looked so innocent in sleep. Though he was no longer a kid, it still hadn't lost the sleekness of youth. Sometimes, she regretted her decision to break it off with him. She had known it would hurt him but, her life had been so carefully planned. She was going to become head of her own unit some day and having a romance with a co-worker just wasn't going to help her get there. She knew she was selfish. He deserved better.

Her family had always had pets; dogs mostly. In her mind, she'd regularly assigned characteristics of various breeds to human beings. For her, it was a way of sorting them out. Wayne was one of the golden retrievers: loyal, sweet-natured, protective; all the things that would make a good husband for someone else, but not her. Grace VanPelt had plans.

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It was nearly dawn. The sun hadn't yet risen. In the damp air, was suspended the aspiration of the new day. She'd gone for a short walk to get away from the harsh light and stale smell of a room that had seen too many straggle through it.

She breathed-in the cool air and looked across the parking lot toward the horizon that was beginning to lighten. If she was a smoker, she'd have stubbed out her cigarette before turning to go back inside. She hadn't smoked in years; right now she missed it.

She took one last breath of relatively untainted oxygen, ran her hand across her face, smoothed her hair and turned to go back to the waiting room.

Lisbon was glad she didn't have to wait alone this time. She was here with family; Jane's family - even if he wasn't yet aware of it.

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Someone was holding his hand. The someone's skin was warm . . . soft. He knew it couldn't be the guys. Lisbon? Grace?

Then above the antiseptic smell he became aware of a faint scent of cinnamon. Grace always wore a bright citrus scent that brought to mind a sunny day in an orange grove. Lisbon always smelled like cinnamon.

He liked to lean over her when she sat at her desk, just so he could inhale the wonderful smell of her hair. He thought she'd be horrified if she knew but, he risked it anyway. When he'd gone without sleep for far too long, even for an insomniac, the scent seemed to ground him and keep him from spinning off into the ether

He tried to open his eyes but found his lids too heavy to raise. There was that beeping sound that almost seemed to be another physical presence in the room. He knew he was in a hospital. He hated hospitals.

He'd have to see about getting out of here; soon as he could figure out how to open his eyes. He'd get right on it.

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She could see him starting to stir.

He'd been off the vent for the last two days and no longer had to be sedated to keep him from interfering with it. The weaning from the machine that had breathed for him had been gradual. First a few minutes, then a few more minutes, then a few hours without the wooshing apparatus. She was there the first time they'd turned it off and she'd held her own breath before his chest rose in a tentative inhalation before settling into a steady, if shallow, rhythm.

The chest tube was also gone now. So far, there was no sign of infection but she didn't think any germ could live after all of the IV antibiotics pumped into his veins over the last few days. He just wasn't quite awake yet.

She left the chair that had been her home for what seemed like eons and went to his side, waiting.

His eyes blinked open briefly but they were unfocused and immediately closed again. He moaned softly as if trying to speak. She stroked her hand over his forehead to sooth him.

"Hey, are you awake?"

She heard an unintelligible rasp and quickly got the cup of ice from the rolling tray parked beside the bed.

"Would you like some ice?"

The sound he made still didn't qualify as actual language but it seemed to be an affirmative and she placed the spoon against his dry lips. He opened his mouth and the spoon clicked against his teeth but the ice made it in and he let it melt before he swallowed.

"More" he managed to croak out and she gave him another few pieces of frozen water.

"Better?"

"Mmm"

He seemed to fall back to sleep so she set the cup down and stood looking at him. He was still very pale but the bluish tinge had been replaced by a healthier color. The hollows under his cheekbones and eyes meant he'd probably have to gain a couple of pounds before he'd be cleared to come back to work.

She'd officially asked Hightower for a week off and it had been granted without any fuss. The stern woman had actually stopped by a couple of times to check on Jane. She'd always seemed to take his behavior in stride and gave him much more leeway than her predecessors but, Lisbon had still been surprised by the visits.

Rigsby had already stopped bye this morning and Cho would be here this evening if he got off work early enough. He'd assumed her duties for the week. She had no doubt that he would handle it in his calm, competent way. He could always call her if he had any questions though she didn't think he'd need to.

Grace was on her way and was bringing a change of clothes for her boss and something to eat. The cafeteria food wasn't bad, but it wasn't a meatball sandwich from Phil's.

As the day waned into afternoon and the light slanting through the blinds indicated it was getting toward sunset, she'd drifted off. Since Jane had been shot, she'd had the recurring dream of him struggling toward her; their outstretched hands about to connect before a tide of blood red water carried him away. It always ended with her waking in panic, her heart pounding and would take hours to throw off the foreboding feeling that clung to her like an evil perfume. Her eyes flew open and she gasped as she straightened in the chair. Her heart was returning to its normal rhythm when she heard him shift in bed.

"Lisbon?" came a hoarse barely-there voice.

"Yeah, Jane, I''m here. You need more ice?"

"Please"

He opened his bleary eyes and after a moment, focused on the dark-haired woman holding the spoon in front of his face. She looked concerned. He took the spoonful of ice chips she offered.

"How long?" he managed to say in a voice that didn't sound like his own.

"How long have you been here?"

"Yeh"

"Five days. How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember being in a bagel shop?"

"You don't remember the shooting?"

"Is that why I feel like somebody's beaten my chest with a sledgehammer?"

"Yeah, that could explain it. How much pain are you in?"

"More than I'd like. Why does my throat feel like I've swallowed a cat?"

"You were on a ventilator for a couple of days but you're much better now and don't need it anymore."

"This is better?"

She laughed slightly and pushed his hair off his forehead then ran her hand down the side of his face, feeling the unshaven bristle.

"Nice" he said, closing his eyes and turning his head into her touch. He drifted off again and when he awoke it was darker in the room and there was someone else standing next to the bed.

"Hey man. Glad you're back among the living."

"Hey Cho, still not sure about the 'living' part."

"Well, you cut it pretty close. Scared the shit out of everyone"

"I assure you it wasn't intentional."

"Just don't do it again."

Jane just laughed, or tried to. It ended in a coughing fit and a groan. He felt the morphine enter his bloodstream and then a wonderful floating feeling as he drifted off again, Cho's face hovering above the bed as he tucked the morphine pump control back beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

Wallet - Chapter Eight

**Thank you so very, very much for sticking with this story. After I'd posted chapter seven, there'd been only a couple of reviews. I'd like to think it was just the site being up then down then up, etc., or was it something I said? Please review this final chapter and tell me nice things, if you're so inclined (or not nice, I value your input). It makes Lyle feel better, (and more co-operative). Thank you to all those who reviewed, favorited and alerted. You guys are awesome!**

**Disclaimer: I only borrowed them for a little while and I have returned them in good-working-order. I don't own them and I don't have enough money to buy them. If I did, they could come stay at my house.**

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Boundary-less

It had been six weeks since he'd almost died. He was bored now.

His team had regularly stopped bye to bring him food, books, dvd's and gossip. They tried to entertain him as best they could; but, enough was enough.

He'd read until his eyes blurred and there was a huge stack of books and magazines next to his sofa. There was only so much daytime TV a man could take. He clearly didn't care who's 'baby daddy' it was for the umpteenth time or who had stolen who's boyfriend, girlfriend, mother-in-law, whatever.

He'd even begun to watch the over-the-top-Mexican soaps. He'd never seen so many heaving bosoms and flaring nostrils in his life.

Eventually, even Oprah had lost her charm.

He had to get out of here.

Hightower wouldn't let him come back until he'd been cleared for duty. He'd finally talked the man he considered a self-important, tax-sheltered, little quack into signing off for light duty if he complied with the stipulation that he 'behave himself'. As Cho was fond of saying 'like that's gonna happen'. He made the promise but, as to actually following the edict, it would depend on what was going on.

Cho had stopped bye to pick him up and he breathed a sigh as they pulled into the CBI lot. The sun had already made its appearance above the line of hills behind the HQ building.

As the two emerged from Cho's sedan and walked across the parking lot; Jane stopped and looked upward. The sunlight seemed brighter; the air cleaner; the sky bluer. He supposed it was another of the after-effects of almost croaking on the parkway in front of Keplovich's apartment. Some memory of that experience had returned. He'd have been happier if it hadn't.

This was home; more so than the little efficiency apartment where he kept his clothes and sometimes slept, (and in which he'd been nearly imprisoned for the past three weeks).

The pain was mostly gone. Only a twinge remained when he moved the wrong way or inhaled too deeply.

As the two of them exited the elevator, Jane was greeted by a chorus of "Hey, glad you're back", "Look what the cat dragged in", "Glad you could finally make it " and one "You look like shit".

He smiled his broad, sunny smile to acknowledge the greetings and walked to his couch and lay down with a deep sigh. He'd missed it and he was sure it missed him.

Lisbon came into the bullpen and stood looking down at her long absent consultant as he lay with eyes closed; breathing evenly as though asleep. He still looked a little pale and needed to gain back some weight but, overall, he was still in one piece, albeit a slightly tattered piece.

"Why are you staring at me Lisbon?" he asked without opening his eyes

"Just glad you're back. We missed you. Our daily quota of bullshit wasn't being filled."

"I just got back, you're already dissing me?"

"Well, have to get a head start in case we get busy. I'm sure that Cho, Rigsby and VanPelt will appreciate that I've kept up the tradition."

"Woman, you **established** the tradition." Jane softly laughed as he opened his eyes, swung his legs to the floor and, she thought, somewhat carefully, sat up.

He'd learned as he was recuperating that sitting up too quickly would, usually, result in severe bed-spins. Having a couch-spin in front of Lisbon wasn't going to look good and he didn't want to be sent home for face planting in the carpet.

She extended something toward him, "Here, you shouldn't be driving without this." _She knew he'd done worse things than driving without a license . . . way worse._

"I wondered where it was" he said, taking the wallet from her. (Two weeks ago, when he'd gone for an illicit drive, he'd attached notes to his keys and rear-view mirror with the reminder to not to lock himself out of his car. He really needed that plastic emergency key).

"I thought it might turn up. Checked with the credit card companies and there didn't seem to be anyone using them."

"Sorry, I've been meaning to get it back to you. I just never seemed to have it with me when I visited after you were discharged from the hospital . . . or shall I say thrown out of the hospital?"

He chose to ignore the remark. After all, everyone knew how he felt about hospitals.

"Do I need to check if my money's still in it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in mock concern.

"Yeah, you might wanna count it. You know, I've been wanting to take that trip to Barbados and your money might get me as far as . . . Bakersfield?"

He set the wallet next to him on the leather cushion. It felt subtly different somehow. It had a slightly different weight to it. He'd check later, not wanting to insult her by doing so in front of her.

In the hospital, when he'd finally become somewhat aware of his surroundings, one of the first things he noticed was that his left hand felt different. With greater effort than it should have taken, he'd managed to raise his hand close enough to see through through the blur, confirming the gold band wasn't where it had been for most of his adult life.

He knew he'd tried to tell them about the ring. _Well, OK, he'd kind of freaked, to be honest_, but, it had only gotten him another dose of meds and he went out again. He hated hospitals.

The next time he remembered waking, the ring was back. He'd felt it on his finger and didn't need to go through the herculean task of trying to lift his hand. He'd just sighed and fallen back to sleep and dreamt of Angela. It was a good dream this time, not a nightmare. No blood, no pain, just Angela smiling at him while Charlotte played in the sunshine.

"Jane?"

He realized he'd drifted off and looked up with his lazy smile.

"Sorry, just thinking about Barbados, I guess."

"You sure you're ready to be back?"

"Hey, doctor 'don't-feel-so-good' cleared me to come back."

"Yeah, if you behaved yourself. Like that's gonna happen." _Cho had apparently rubbed off on her_.

"Well, dear Lisbon, I don't have the energy to get into too much trouble. It seems that getting shot and almost dying can take a lot out of one."

"Well, we've missed you around here. I'm sure everyone is glad you're back."

"Everyone?"

"Well . . . most of us."

"Yes, I'm sure that everyone's missed the 'pain-in-the-ass' as I'm usually called."

"What? Who calls you that!" said Lisbon, trying to sound indignant that anyone would dare insult him so.

"Oh, come on Lisbon. I'm very aware of my nicknames. They are as follows: Pain-in-the-Ass, That Little Bastard, Charlatan, Troublemaker, Snoop . . . I could go on."

Lisbon looked at him with slightly widened eyes as he smiled up at her.

"My current favorite is "Boundary-less Baboon'. It's a little more creative and I like the alliteration. Besides, I'm sure you've thought it yourself from time to time and have probably even said it."

He saw her eyes falter for the briefest moment before denial escaped her lips.

"No I haven't" she said a little too emphatically, her cheeks beginning to pink up. He loved to make her blush.

"It's OK. " he chuckled laying back with his hands behind his head even though it seemed to make his chest ache and pull slightly.

His smile faded as he said "I know I'm a fucked up mess."

Lisbon looked down at him; her eyes losing their twinkle and her expression softening.

"Yeah, but your **our** fucked-up mess."

"Why thank you . . . I think. I guess ownership can denote caring . . . in some twisted Kathy Bates kind of way".

"Well, Princess. You're a lot tougher than you and everyone else may think."

"How so?"

"You're still alive." she said softly as her eyes began to fill with unshed tears.

His crystalline gaze locked onto hers and he said, just as softly. "I'm sorry I scared you Teresa. You know I couldn't leave you. Who would make you origami frogs?"

She stood looking at him intently for a moment and then making a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort turned and walked back to her office; calling over her shoulder, "Well, you're grounded for now Buster. Just rest until you're needed. That means don't call us, we'll call you."

He smiled as he looked at her retreating back and picked up the wallet lying on the cushion next to him. Its heft was still off. He opened it curiously and flipped through the plastic windows until he came to something unfamiliar. It was a photo of the five of them taken at a function he'd not even bothered to remember. They were all dressed for a special occasion. He wasn't even wearing his three-piece suit.

The five of them were standing, arms around each other and looking at the camera. Obviously, at least a couple of them had to be somewhat tipsy to look so relaxed but, it was a nice photo.

He saw himself standing behind Lisbon with his arms around her shoulders and her hands resting on top of his. She was nestled into his chest and seemed comfortable in his embrace. _Yeah, someone was tipsy._ The other three were standing with arms linked and looking as though they were laughing, even Cho.

He stared raptly at it awhile longer before turning to the next sleeve. It also held something new. There was a laminated card with a prayer printed on it. It was one of the psalms, the twenty third, if he remembered the correct number. It was the one about walking through the valley of death and having no fear. OK, he knew that was from Grace, obviously, she still hadn't given up on him. She was persistent, he'd give her that.

He flipped to the next pocket and there was a gift card for Mrs. Sees chocolates. He and Rigsby shared some of the same addictions, (but he always thought his own were a little more discriminating, he drew the line at gummy worms). He'd make good use of the card.

The other side of the plastic window held a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card from a monopoly set. The note written on it in Cho's neat printing: "Just call me. I'll bail you out."

He folded the wallet back up and tucked it into his pocket.

He lay back down on the couch and closed his eyes. He drifted off with a serene look on his face thinking . . . _the wallet's heavier now, it'll take some getting used to._


End file.
